Perhaps it's just a kindly lie,
A child's fable, that caterpillar
Transforms itself to butterfly.
Perhaps behind the chrysalis'
Veil lurks a changeling scavenger
That feasts on tortured worm, that is
Now ghoul meat. A carrion fly,
Vulture mimicking the phoenix,
Bursts from the rotting cadaver
In plumage stained of agony.
Or perhaps it's true caterpillar
Is merely seed, its destiny
Apotheosis; butterfly.
Would he choose it, unseen? Would I?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem